BERNSTEIN.

You seemed so agitated that I came after your cab mit anoder.

MISS DYOTT.

Agitated—yes. Tell me—miserable woman that I am—tell me, what did I sound like at rehearsal this morning?

BERNSTEIN.

Cabital—cabital. Your voice comes out rich and peautiful. Marks my vord—you will make a hit to-night. Have you seen your new name in de pills?

MISS DYOTT.

The pills?

BERNSTEIN.

The blay-pills.

MISS DYOTT.

I should drop flat on the pavement, if I did.

BERNSTEIN.

It looks very vine. [Quoting.] "Miss Gonstance Delaporte as Queen Honorine, in Otto Bernstein's new Gomic Opera, 'Pierrette,' her vurst abbearance in London."

MISS DYOTT.

Oh, how disgraceful!

BERNSTEIN.

Disgraceful! To sing such melodies! No—no, please. Disgraceful! Vy did you appeal to me, dree weeks ago, to put you in the vay of getting through the Christmas vacation?

MISS DYOTT.

[Tearfully.] You don't know everything. Sit down! I can trust you. You are my oldest friend, and were a pupil of my late eminent father. Mr. Bernstein, I am no longer a single woman.

BERNSTEIN.

Oh, I am very bleased. I wish you many happy returns of the—eh—no—I congratulate you.

MISS DYOTT.

I am married secretly—secretly, because my husband coul